


To The End

by Gnine, Xparrot



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Cave-In, Concussions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Smarm, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-05
Updated: 2001-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnine/pseuds/Gnine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mission goes wrong, the Weiss boys are trapped together, facing the realization that their time may have finally run out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The End

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note 1: OK, this fic was written in a kinda round robin style, each of us writing a page or two at a time, by my sister and I. It's not yaoi *shock* though we do both enjoy that with the Weiss boys. However, at the time we wrote this, we were both in a smarm (for those of you who know what that is) and h/c mood. This could be taken as pre-slash, feel free to. I think we were half the time. However, if you're looking for hot yaoi action, sorry. We'd love C&amp;C anyways though.
> 
> Gnine
> 
> Author's Note 2: This was all my sister's faul—er, idea. She came up with the plot...if you can go so far to call it that. Our only defense is that we did it for fun, and let's be honest, over the top is fun. This has it all—angst, guilt, laughter, hugs, blood sweat and tears, falling rocks, medical inaccuracies, technological impossibilities, oxygen deprivation, a gratuitous concussion, and even the requisite deus ex machina ending at no extra charge.
> 
> So, sit back and relax. You are entering the hurt/comfort zone...
> 
> X-parrot

"Done yet?" came Omi's demand over the headset, followed quickly by an "Affirmative," in Aya's deep baritone. A moment later the speaker crackled once more. "Balinese finished, heading out."

Ken sighed. "Still got one left." He picked up his pace another notch, fiddling with the last of the explosives, steadfastly ignoring the two corpses he had disposed of not long ago lying at the far side of the chamber.

The weapons cache, buried in an old mining complex in the foothills of the mountains, had been difficult to find and even harder to infiltrate. Though only guarded by a handful of men, those few were extremely loyal to their organization and knew all the tricks of the place. They had put up a very good fight.

It proved in vain, however, for as so many others had discovered, once Weiss set off on a mission, nothing stopped them. With the last few guards either dead or fled into the deeper recesses of the converted mines, all they had left to do was to destroy the evidence...i.e. bring the whole place down.

Making one final adjustment, Ken toggled the radio. "All set here. Start the countdown anytime, I'll be out in five."

"Acknowledged. Countdown started." Accompanying this came a soft beep from the timer nearest to him.

Doing one final sweep, Ken glanced around to make sure all the explosives were set in the chamber, then turned to leave. It was then he heard a soft groan, accompanied by a distinctive click.

Spinning back around he immediately realized his fatal error: one of the guards wasn't as dead as he had thought. It took him only a fraction of a second longer to notice that the gun the man shakily held was not pointed across the room at him, but at the nearest explosive.

"_Kuso_!" His legs were moving before his mind caught up and began screaming warning that though a direct shot at the explosive may not set it off, that wasn't very likely...

Ken had just long enough to pray that the bomb wouldn't set off all the others when a characteristic BANG resounded throughout the stone hall, followed moments later by a much larger detonation.

He put on another burst of speed as the floor under him shook slightly. He had almost made it to the main corridor when a loud crack came from above and a blinding pain burst in the back of his skull. Then all he knew was darkness.

 

* * *

Omi's hideout was situated above and to the left of the main entrance, giving him the perfect sniper advantage. Climbing the last few feet up to the ledge, Aya turned to glance back down, waiting for his other two teammates to emerge.

A moment later, Yohji strolled out, his gaze immediately swinging up to them as he flipped out his sunglasses, settling them on his nose with a grin.

Frowning in disapproval, the redhead raised his arm to gesture him up, but froze when a low rumble reached his ears. It was obvious the sound was louder down where the blond was standing as he whipped around to face the tunnel entrance, brow furrowed.

Aya and Omi exchanged a glance, their minds simultaneously reaching the same conclusion. _Ken_. Omi beat him to the radio by a fraction of a second. "Siberian, please respond. Siberian."

All three men held their breaths as they waited for a response, concern growing as each second ticked by.

"_Shimatta_!" Yohji's curse broke the silence. Aya swung his gaze back down in time to see their eldest team member disappear back inside the mine.

"Balinese! Get back here!" Aya paused, listening for a reply he knew wouldn't come. Suppressing a sigh of frustration, he turned back to Omi, voice held with icy control. "Can you halt the countdown?" He knew the answer before he asked the question, but he still had to ask.

The teen swallowed. "You know I can't." His denial was a barely audible whisper, his eyes locked on the entrance to the mineshaft where their two teammates were quickly running out of time. Coming to a decision, he was on his feet and moving before Aya could stop him.

"Omi, where do—"

"Yohji and Ken may need help." With that he was half-running, half-sliding down the incline, pelting forward the moment his feet hit flat ground.

Aya stood a moment longer, reminding himself that it was his duty as leader to ensure the completion of the mission. His eyes caught on the timer, still racing too quickly towards zero.

With a grimace he launched himself after Omi, satisfied with the knowledge that, one way or another, the mission would be completed.

 

* * *

Blackness. Odd; he thought he had opened his eyes. Ken blinked to verify this, still saw nothing but blackness. Had he gone blind?

He made to extend his arm, then realized he was lying facedown on hard ground. His mouth was filled with dirt. Coughing, he tried to push to his feet, but the darkness gave him no clue about which way was up and his inner ear wasn't cooperating. Either that or the floor was rocking. Earthquake?

No—explosives. The mine. It all snapped back and he groaned, knuckled his forehead, then winced at the sharp stab of pain. His hand came away wet. He reached for the flashlight hanging on his belt, shook it and heard the rattle of broken glass. Calling his teammates' designations over the radio brought no response.

Had the bombs gone off already? He couldn't hear anything beyond the hissing static in his earpiece and the pounding of his head. The floor seemed to be moving—at least he couldn't find his footing on it, but that might be due to his cracked skull.

And no exit to aim for even if he could walk. Fine mess this was. At least the others had escaped—he decided not to think beyond that assumption. It was the easiest one to make; Aya and Omi were outside already, and Yohji had nearly gotten there. There was nothing to indicate otherwise coming over the radio. They had made it, they were safe. And he—

He was going to be crushed under a mountain as soon as the bombs went off, if they hadn't already. If they had, then he was going to bleed to death from the head wound. There were worse ways to go. If he had more guts he would slice open a wrist to help the process along, but that wasn't in him, to give up without reason. Instead he pushed himself to stand, sliding his shoulder against the stone wall for support. _Come on, Hidaka. You got yourself into this; you get yourself out._ One foot ahead of the other. He had learned to walk at one year old. One would think he could remember how to do it.

Then he heard footsteps, echoing through the tunnel, far steadier than his own stumble. He cursed. Some of the guards must still be around. Crouched against the wall, he unsheathed his bugnuks. He had learned to kill at fifteen. Could remember that, too.

He tried to quiet his ragged breathing, focusing the last of his spinning consciousness on the approaching threat. But his boots slipped on a wet patch on the ground and he fell, hard, unable to stifle the groan of pain.

"Ken!" The shout rattled his skull, just as a white stab of light pierced his pupils like one of Omi's darts. Flinching back, he raised his arm to block the flashlight's beam, trying to process the voice.

"You got out!" he accused as Yohji was inexplicably at his side, none too gently hauling him to his feet. At least his teammate seemed to have a better idea of the correct orientation for standing. It didn't make walking much easier, though, even with Yohji dragging most of him. "Thought you made it out..." he panted as they moved.

"I did," Yohji replied, "but then I noticed you hadn't."

"You came back—for me? Aya's gonna kill you."

"If the mine collapsing doesn't beat him to it."

"What?" Ken stopped in his tracks, nearly off-balancing them both. "The explosives haven't—"

"We got a minute or so—move it, Siberian!"

"No!" Ken shoved his teammate away, sending himself staggering back. Braced against the tunnel wall, he stared at Yohji through the flashlight's angled beam and the red dripping into his eyes, gasped out, "You move it—run!"

He couldn't make out Yohji's expression, but his teammate's voice sounded as casual as if he were flirting with a girl at the shop. "I'll run if you do."

"I'll—be fine," Ken insisted, trying to look capable of standing on his own. "Just—get out!"

"Sure." But instead of obeying, Yohji looped his arm around his shoulders again, then ducked and heaved him up into a fireman's carry. Ken's immediate protest was halted by the need to fight the sudden wave of nausea caused from the abrupt change in orientation.

After a few deep breaths that helped discourage the blackness from encroaching further on his vision, he was able to gasp out what he hoped was an intelligible, "Put me down!" The jostling as Yohji began jogging garbled most of it. Whether from lack of understanding or simple refusal to acknowledge, Ken got no answer.

Struggling to be released, he tried once more. "You can't...run fast enough...carrying me."

"Certainly not with you thrashing like that!" Yohji panted through gritted teeth, stumbling and catching himself just before they both wound up on the ground. Ken instantly stopped wiggling, but he had no intention of letting Yohji pay for his mistake.

However, no more than "You have to—" was out of his mouth when Omi's voice cut him off.

"Yohji! Ken!" The teenager had just rounded a corner and was pelting down the corridor towards them, and, to their mutual surprise, Aya wasn't far behind him.

Coming to a halt, Yohji finally did as he'd originally been asked and swung Ken off his back, but without relinquishing his grip on the injured man's shoulder. Fortunately at that moment the others reached them, and Aya grabbed Ken's other arm as his knees gave out. They didn't give him a chance to think about getting back on his feet before they were half-carrying, half-dragging him down the hall, Omi guiding them on the quickest route.

He could have sworn he had given his feet the command to walk but it seemed they had gone on strike...again, damn unions, never satisfied, never doing what they're told... Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he instantly regretted the action, but at least the pain brought him somewhat back to the here and now.

"How much time?" There, at least his mouth was responding...though on second thought, given the lack of a reply, he couldn't be sure. "Leave me..." Head down and vision fading, he missed the looks the others exchanged. "Won't make it, you guys gotta run!"

Still no answer. _Kuso_, his mouth and feet _were_ in cahoots.

"Shut up, Hidaka..." So soft he almost missed it, Aya's voice was not far from his ear.

He wasn't sure if he was more angry at the fact they _had_ heard him and hadn't responded, or that they were putting themselves in danger because of his own stupidity. Trying to pull away, he found his arms also refused to obey...his body _was_ plotting against him...

Ken found he was fighting a lousing battle. Unconsciousness had almost claimed victory when Yohji's yell jarred him back to awareness. "Omi, the exit's that way!"

The teen's voice came from further ahead. "I know, but we're not gonna make it out. The area just ahead had no explosives...steel reinforced, it may hold, hurry!"

With a final burst of speed, Aya and Yohji, dragging Ken, threw themselves into the tunnel, just as the world around them went to hell.

 

* * *

He wasn't dead, to judge from the heartbeat thundering in his ears. Drawing a deep breath, Aya uncovered his head and sat up to a rustle of pebbles sliding off his back. His flashlight, strapped to his belt, slanted a narrow beam of dull light along the stony ground. A quick shake brightened its glow momentarily and he cast it about his surroundings as he called, "Hidaka. Kudou. Tsukiyoni."

"Here." The beam passed over a glitter of movement and he focused the light on Yohji, kneeling a few meters away hunched over a motionless form. "Ken, too," Yohji reported, "but he's out for the count. Alive, though," he added quietly, one hand pressed to the younger man's neck to feel his pulse.

Aya grunted an acknowledgment and continued to sweep the tunnel with his light. Directly behind him was a pile of earth and rock, missed falling on him by less than a meter. Not far ahead the walls had caved in. The area which Omi had spoke of was in truth only a juncture of two passages; all the surrounding tunnels had collapsed, leaving them in a channel perhaps fifteen meters square, and the ceiling low enough that Yohji standing would bump his head.

"Where's Omi?" Yohji demanded. "My flashlight's out—"

"I'm here, Yohji-kun." The faint response was accompanied by a second light shafting across the limited space, quivering in an unsteady hand. Aya trained his own light on its source and illuminated Omi's pale face, drawn and sheened with sweat. He was crouched awkwardly against the far corner five meters ahead, back to a steel strut and one leg angled as if it might be caught under the fallen boulders.

"Are you injured, or trapped?" Aya demanded as he rose and strode to his youngest teammate, playing the flashlight over him.

"Not trapped," Omi said softly. One hand, Aya saw as he approached, was clasped tightly over his thigh, under which dark blood seeped out to stain his shorts.

Too much blood, considering he had only just been injured. Aya hissed as he took in the pressure with which Omi was attempting to stem the flow. Digging into the pockets of his coat, he yanked out the slim first-aid kit with its roll of bandages. Guiding Omi's hand to aim the flashlight, he instructed, "Hold it as steady as you can," then lifted the boy's other hand from its clamp.

Red blood welled up immediately. Aya quickly wrapped the wound as tightly as he dared, packing the few wisps of sterile gauze over it. They could worry about infection later, when bleeding to death was less of an issue. Omi gritted his teeth, but was unable to prevent a startled gasp of pain from escaping.

"Are you hurt, Omi?" Yohji sounded tense and unnaturally serious. Aya didn't spare a look back but could picture their teammate trying to see through the shadows and Aya himself obscuring his view.

"Only a little," Omi answered. It would have sounded more reassuring, Aya observed abstractly, if his voice wasn't wavering worse than the flashlight he held. When in pain he always sounded even younger than his true short years, too inexperienced to be able to cover it.

Not that Aya was so very much older, in actual age. But Omi, for all he could act the most mature, still was so obviously the youngest of them. Not naïve, but somehow still possessing a child's purity, an untainted ability to wonder, to care, to feel. Omi, and Ken too, the inexplicable innocents in their dark and corrupted life.

"How's Ken?" he heard Omi say, just as he opened his mouth to ask himself.

"I can't tell." Distress roughened Yohji's normally smooth baritone. "Maybe if I had some light here I might _actually_ be able to see."

"Here," Aya said, ignoring the scathing sarcasm and tossing his flashlight over his shoulder without turning. He finished tying the bandage around Omi's leg, studied his teammate's face.

Omi nodded jerkily, murmured, "Thank you, Aya-kun. Here, you'll be able to use it better," and he handed over his own flashlight.

"Yohji?" Aya asked, finally looking back. He could make out some of the blond's expression in the dim glow reflecting from his examination of Ken, the shifting planes of his cheeks and the glitter of his eyes. "How is he?"

"I think he's—"

Ken groaned.

"Waking up," Yohji finished, and though his smile was in shadow Aya could hear its edge in his teammate's voice.

"C'mon, Kenken, wakey wakey," the blond called softly as his younger teammate's eyes fluttered open, only to scrunch immediately closed again with a hiss of pain as even the dim illumination of the flashlight overwhelmed them.

"Turn the light away," Aya called from across the room, guessing what was wrong. Turning back to Omi as he heard Yohji's soft apology, he nodded his head in their direction. "I'm going to go check on Ken."

"_Un_."

The redhead quickly made his way back over to his other two comrades, accompanied by Yohji's quiet urgings for Ken at the very least to blink once more.

"Open your eyes," Aya commanded as he knelt by Ken's side, pretending to ignore the troubled look on the face across from him.

Unable to disobey the order, the injured man's eyes slowly squinted open, straining to focus on the two faces above him. "W-what happened?" he finally managed to mumble.

"The mission was completed." His voice was perfectly calm, as always, betraying none of what the owner was truly feeling.

"What do you mean..." It took a moment for Ken's muddled brain to register the statement. "The bombs! You guys were suppose to..._kuso_!" The last was more of a cry of pain as he instantly regretted his unwise attempt to sit up.

It barely registered as strong arms caught and supported him in a half-sitting position, the small burst of strength the anger had given him fleeing. Only the sharp pounding in his skull remained.

Over the rushing in his ears he thought he made out a faint, "What's wrong?" in Omi's voice. With a few deep breaths, the spots in his vision and the ringing in his ears faded, and the world around him began to return.

"He's bleeding."

"I can see that...here, can you hold the light?"

Ken felt himself being carefully shifted so he was braced against a shoulder, an arm looped about his back to keep him upright while another pair of hands gently probed his skull.

"Is Ken OK?" Omi called again from somewhere off to his right.

"I'm fin—ahh..." His words were cut off by a moan as Aya's fingers brushed a large and growing lump on the back of his head. Grimacing, Ken decided to keep his mouth shut and concentrate on suppressing the thumping in his head which was insisting on getting louder.

"Yohji-kun? Aya-kun? Could one of you please tell me—"

"I believe he has a concussion."

Ken groaned. Well, that explained the marching band parading between his ears.

"Not to mention the rather unattractive gash on his temple," Yohji added, his light tone fooling no one.

 

* * *

A couple strips of medical tape closed the cut on his forehead. Yohji noticed with relief that the bleeding had already slowed—there was enough blood already dripped into Ken's collar to call for concern. Well, head injuries always looked the worse. With a little luck it wouldn't even scar.

Of greater worry was the concussion. "Sorry about this," Yohji apologized, shining the flashlight directly down into Ken's eyes. His teammate winced and raised a shielding hand in protest. Yohji observed the unevenly sized pupils before turning aside the beam, as Aya put his hand into Ken's line of sight, two fingers extended.

"How many fingers?" he inquired tonelessly.

Ken squinted. "You expect me...to tell after that? All I see are stars."

"How many?" Aya repeated.

Still reclining with his head pillowed by Yohji's knee, Ken rubbed his eyes as if to wipe away more blood, hazarded, "Three?"

Yohji thought Aya's mouth might have flattened to an even thinner line, but it was difficult to tell in the dimness. Without a word he withdrew his hand, stood and returned to Omi's side.

"Guess I failed," Ken whispered. "Never was...good at math."

"Me neither." Yohji shifted, trying to rearrange his legs into a more comfortable position without jostling Ken. The movement jarred his side and he inhaled sharply.

Ken's eyes, fallen shut, snapped open again. "What?"

"Nothing." Yohji forced himself to exhale, his breath catching only slightly at the stab of pain, shooting through his chest down his arms until even his fingertips tingled. He blinked it back, asked with carefully assumed care, "How bad does it hurt?"

"I'd say I've had worse, but..." Yohji heard Ken's teeth click together. "Okay...if your migraines are like this...I'll never say you're playing hooky again."

"Only sometimes," Yohji said. If he breathed shallowly the ache was bearable. Hardly noticeable, really, in the face of everything else. "It can be pretty bad, though. There was one time—let's just say, never tell a girl, 'I have a headache', because there is no way in hell they will ever buy it."

"Whatever..." At Ken's mumble, Yohji angled the flashlight at his face. His eyes were closed again, lashes dark streaks against his pale skin as he weakly turned his head away from the light.

"Hey, Hidaka, don't get too comfortable." Yohji moved deliberately to rock him awake. Ken's eyes flickered open, narrowed with pain and irritation. "No sleeping," the blond admonished. "It's the middle of the day."

"Just a nap..." His words were slurring.

"Not with a concussion. You need to stay awake. Do you want me to recite the whole Kritiker first aid handbook at you?"

Ken opened his eyes wide, made an effort to focus on him. "Thought the only rule in that was...shoot them if their leg's broke..."

"No. Shoot them if they compromise the mission." Aya's voice was closer than expected. Yohji looked up to see the redhead standing before them with Omi cradled in his arms, their team leader's slender frame betraying no effort, though Omi was not the lightweight he might appear. Moving silently as ever, he settled the boy on the ground beside them with impersonal care.

Yohji, seeing the stained bandage around Omi's leg, realized they had understated his injury. "Should you have moved him?"

"Aya-kun wouldn't let me crawl over." Omi's smile was only a flash of white teeth through the dark, his gentle tenor shaky. "Ken-kun? Are you with us?"

"Yeah," Ken said. "Unfortunately. How are you dealing?"

"It's not too bad. Yohji-kun, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Yohji replied, only to have Ken make a rude noise of incredulity. "Just a little bruised," he assured over it. "Aya, we have to look into finding a way out of here. There's gotta be some way to, I don't know, dig out, at least enough to get a radio signal through—"

He made to shift Ken's head off his lap in order to stand, but moved too quickly and gasped at the piercing pang. Before he could cover it with a wry comment, Aya had leaned across Ken. With his long fingers he prodded Yohji's chest, just a delicate touch, but it felt like a red-hot knife had been thrust into his lungs.

As the agonized fireworks flashing before his eyes cleared, he made out Aya regarding him with cool disapproval. "A little bruised?" the redhead asked flatly.

Yohji panted in quick bursts. When the pain subsided enough for him to catch his breath, he replied, "Or a little cracked, maybe. Would you please not do that again?" Even Ken and Omi were looking worried, he noticed, as if it were easier to focus on someone else's pain than their own.

Hell, it probably was, at that. In which case they all had plenty to occupy their thoughts. Weren't they lucky. "I don't know about you guys," Yohji commented, "but fun as this is, I wouldn't mind finding an exit right about now..."

 

* * *

With a nod of agreement, Aya stood. Turning in place, he played the beam of light about the chamber, looking for anything resembling an opening in the surrounding rocks. Failing, he looked back at the three huddled at his feet.

Omi and Yohji were leaning shoulder to shoulder, Ken's head still pillowed in the older man's lap. Though all were attempting to hide it, pain was clearly etched on all three of their faces, accompanied by troubled looks as their eyes followed the arc of light and reached the same conclusion as him. There was no obvious opening, and probably no way out.

Still, he wasn't willing to give up that easily. "Omi, Yohji, keep him awake," he ordered as he noticed the brunette's eyes once more falling shut. With that, he turned to the adjacent wall and began to make a careful search of the entire perimeter.

Following Aya's command, Omi reached over, shaking Ken's shoulder gently. "Ken-kun, try to stay awake, OK."

Slowly the heavy lids cracked open. "Not going...to sleep....just resting my eyes..." he murmured, voice trailing off even as he spoke. Yohji's short bark of laughter, cut off by a slight hiss of pain, brought his eyes snapping open once more.

"You're...sure you're OK? Should I move..." He tried to shift his weight away but found he couldn't even do that much.

"No, S'ok, just remind me not to try anything like laughing for a little while. Not that there's much to laugh about right now, I guess, _ne_..." All three remained silent for a moment after that; the only sounds was their harsh breathing and Aya moving about across the chamber.

"_Gomen_," Ken whispered into the stillness.

"Ken-kun, don't—"

"It's my fault...you're all stuck here...hurt." He willed his scattered consciousness to stay long enough to apologize at least.

"We were the ones who decided to come back," Omi protested.

Letting his eyes fall shut, only partly so he wouldn't have to see the others faces, Ken shook his head slightly, regretting even that small motion. "...Shouldn't have had to. If I hadn't...screwed up..._Gomen_..." He couldn't be sure he'd even managed to get the last few words out.

"Still," the teen insisted, "we had a choice and this is the one we made..." He trailed off, becoming anxious as he got no further response. "Ken-kun? Ken?"

When shaking his shoulder still elicited no response, Yohji flicked back on the flash light, illuminating the pale, still face.

"Oi! Ken!" He emphasized the call with a rock of his legs, but the jostling brought no reaction.

At that moment Aya returned, kneeling down before them. With a slight frown, he tried tapping the unconscious man lightly on the cheek, then slapped him hard enough to leave prints when nothing else worked.

Ken groaned, eyes opening to mere slits.

"Hidaka!" Aya growled. "You will at least _try_ to stay awake. Apologizing helps nothing, but it is, however, disappointing how easily you are giving up."

Ignoring the others' stunned looks, the violet eyes continued to bore into the younger man's face for a moment more, until the brown eyes were fully open and returning the gaze as steadily as they could.

"Better," the redhead admonished, expression softening ever so slightly before turning to encompass all three of them in his gaze.

"So? Situation evaluation?" Yohji asked after a moment.

"Not good." He wasn't expecting Aya to sugarcoat it, but the deliberate precision of their teamleader's reply was unexpectedly grim. "All four passages are blocked by stones too large to move. Even if they could be, we're deep enough underground I doubt we could dig our way out before we suffered dehydration."

Especially since Aya was the only able-bodied of the four. Yohji would never underestimate Aya's strength, either of muscle or will, but he wasn't a superman. And they weren't in a jail cell, with years to chip their way free. "So we use brains instead of brawn," he said. "Omi, I'm guessing there's too much earth above us for the radios to work?"

"Probably," Omi said. "They might all have broken in the explosion anyway. I think mine's dead."

"Let's forget that happy thought for now. If we could make a hole to the surface, could we get a signal out?"

"Maybe..."

"Not a hole," Ken broke in suddenly. "If there were an antenna...would that help?"

"An antenna? Yes," Omi said, "that could boost the signal...but with what, Ken-kun?"

"I don't think any of us has a coat hanger on them," Yohji put in.

"Not a hanger," Ken said. He had closed his eyes again but his voice sounded relatively alert, syllables enunciated with care. "But other stuff..."

"Aya's sword?" Omi asked, his eyes going to the sheathed katana.

"That, but more..." Ken, wincing, squirmed to sit up slightly. "You said...the reinforcement's steel, right? Steel's metal. And we got...wire, too." With one hand he reached up and clasped Yohji's wrist, turning the watch with its hidden danger into the flashlight's shine.

Omi's eyes widened. "Ken-kun, that might work! If we strung the wire around, we could use this whole room as an antenna, and if any of the steel struts extend far enough up, it might get through. If there's anyone listening," he added, face falling a bit, before he said, with determination, "Everyone, give me your radios."

Yohji and Aya trained both flashlights on Omi's hands as he went over the four radios and selected Yohji's and Aya's as the most likely to still be intact. In minutes he had pried their cases open with one of his darts and was stringing Yohji's metal thread through their innards, giving the rest to Aya to stretch across the confines of the chamber and wrap around the steel beams, using more darts to fix the ends in place. Aya followed his instructions with meticulous attention, slipping fluidly through the web of deadly wire as he constructed it, the sharp glitter barely visible in the dim light.

Once the primitive array was assembled, Omi pressed the button on both boxes and spoke clearly, "This is Tsukiyoni Omi. I and three others have been trapped underground." He gave their approximate location, repeated the situation, then paused and waited. No response came.

"I don't know if we'd be able to receive one anyway," he admitted. "We should keep trying."

Aya, squatting beside him, nodded once in confirmation. "You, Yohji, and I will take turns."

Omi agreed and raised the radio to his mouth, repeating his plea. Yohji noticed Ken drifting off and jostled him awake. "Hey, you're staying up until the cavalry comes."

"Trying," Ken mumbled. "If it comes."

"That's not the spirit," Yohji argued. "Come on, look on the bright side."

"That being?"

"Well...we're not dead."

Ken snorted, lacking the stamina to smile. "Yet. But we won't...have to wait long. Right, Aya?"

Aya's face was in shadow, his voice even as ever. "I said no such thing."

"But you don't think...this is going to work."

"I didn't say that either."

"No," Yohji allowed, "but we've gotten pretty good at listening to your silences. And it's clear you're not your usual sunny self. What's the reason—besides the obvious," and he gestured at their surroundings.

Omi had fallen quiet, also listening. Aya let the pause hang for a moment, before saying, "I searched the entire perimeter of this space. There are no gaps that I could see in the rockfall. I estimate we have at most nine hours of air remaining before we suffocate."

Another short moment passed before Yohji said, "Only nine? I was guessing ten."

"I thought...only eight," Ken put in.

"My estimate tallies with Aya's," Omi finished. He leaned forward to study his three teammates' faces, his own wan and pinched through the darkness. "But I still think we should try while we can." And picking up the radio, he continued to repeat his call for help.

 

* * *

After a stretched silence, broken only by Omi's occasional repeated distress call, Aya's pacing, and Ken's groans as he was every so often dragged back to unwilling alertness, Yohji stirred.

"So, anyone up for a game of cards?"

"That would require a deck." Aya commented dryly from a few feet away, having finally come to rest after circling the room restlessly like a cage animal. He was finding it difficult to control his frustration at being the only one capable of doing anything—and not having a thing to do. The obvious pain that the other three were all unsuccessfully trying to hide did nothing to alleviate his annoyance.

"OK, a word game then!" The blond shrugged, the silence beginning to eat at him. "Look," he reasoned. "We gotta do something to keep Kenken here awake."

"Don't use my injury as an excuse...for your boredom," the man in question mumbled. As his headrest mock-glared down at him, he grinned slightly before letting his eyes slowly fall shut once more.

Yohji 'tsked' at him, shifting his legs slightly till the lids once more sluggishly slid open, trying not to wince at the stab of pain in his chest that even that slight move cost him. Turning to Aya, he gestured downwards. "See what I mean!"

When the redhead chose to remain silent, Omi piped up. "Nn, Yohji-kun's right—"

"Thank you."

"--we'll all start going nuts if we just sit here in silence, waiting to..." He trailed off, eyes hastily darting away.

"Die?" Aya finished. No one else spoke.

Omi clutched the radio in his hand, knowing it was their only chance, and a slim one at that. He easily could have given fifty reasons why it wouldn't—_couldn't_—work, but he had forbidden himself to state them...or even let his mind dwell on them. In the utter silence, however, it was hard to suppress them. Despair could be so easily overwhelming.

"It's green."

Having opened his mouth to say something, anything, to escape his dark thoughts, it took Omi a moment to register who had spoken, and a little longer to overcome his surprise and glance at Aya in confusion. Ken too had opened his eyes wide to stare at the red-head, mouth set in a perplexed frown.

"_Nani_?" Yohji demanded, just as baffled as the other two. The blond couldn't be certain in the dim light cast by the flashlight, but he swore the icicle had actually smiled.

Aya shrugged. "It's a game my sister used to play." At their continued bewilderment, he elaborated, "One person names the color of something they can see and everyone else guesses what it is."

As one, the others blinked. After a moment, Yohji turned to their youngest teammate. "Omi, what was that you said about us all going nuts?"

 

* * *

There was warmth in words, Yohji thought. Even in Aya's glacially level baritone—such an old voice for such a young man.

It wasn't often that Yohji felt himself to be the eldest of his teammates. What little he had over them in years, they surpassed him in skill, in responsibility, in pain. But they really were only boys. They never had lived as men at all; only as night hunters, dark creatures, and their hard-won wisdom was not the natural education of growing up. Underneath the blood and steel they were boys yet. He heard it in their laughter as they tossed words back and forth, though Omi and Ken's chuckles might be strained, and Aya's laugh was a hidden, unvoiced thing. He would never sound like a kid again. But his youth was there yet, in the back of his violet eyes, in the way he finally allowed himself to relax, seated on the ground with his chin propped up by an angled knee, a boy's pretzel-knot posture.

And he, Yohji, flung his own comments into the stir, and laughed himself, but he could feel a difference in himself the others missed, a more deliberate sense of smiling into darkness. The abyss yawned wide and he could not forget what they were delaying. The difference between a boy and a man is that a boy knows in his heart of hearts that he will live forever. A man understands he will die.

But not now...and not them. They were boys yet. Too young for death. Immortal.

Even with his throat parched and his tongue dry, he forced himself to keep talking. Keep the entertainment going, use the heat of words to drive back the chill of the blackness past the scope of their flashlights. But finally the games were quit and the last echo of laughter died. Omi dozed, curled against the wall; Aya claimed the radio from him and continued their lone cry for help, once every five minutes with clockwork punctuality.

Yohji engaged Ken in conversation, teasing him and being stung in return, more word-games, which gradually became more straightforward as Ken's concentration wandered. Yohji did what he could to keep him grounded. Questions about football, about the kids he taught. What girls did he have his eye on, and where he had bought his motorcycle.

After a little while Yohji looked up, to where Aya sat with the radio in his hand and his steady gaze watching them. "Why don't you give me that?" he suggested to the redhead. "I need to keep Wolverine here talking anyway. You could get some rest."

Aya regarded him for a searching moment, then handed over the radio and settled back on the ground, his arms cross and his chin tucked on his breastbone.

"Wolverine?" Ken asked. His voice had gone hoarse but his eyes were still open.

"Didn't you see that American movie last year? X-men. The guy with the claws." Yohji absentmindedly fingered the radio buttons. "Shame we aren't superheroes. Be a lot easier to just blast our way out of here with laser-canon eyes."

"Just a stick of dynamite...would be fine with me," Ken returned.

Yohji's gaze drifted past the circumference of the flashlight's rays to the shadowed blockades of earth and rock trapping them. He had to steel his nerves against a shiver, unsure if it was from the imagined cold or the tangible darkness. He had never experienced claustrophobia before but this particular escapade was enough to put him off caves for the rest of his life. However long that would be.

Join Weiss, see the world. Meet interesting people and kill them. Not much of a life, when you get down to it. And yet he held onto it with both hands, refused to contemplate its finish. There was so much to live for, after all. Cigarettes. Pretty women. And flowers, don't forget the flowers.

Some flowers down here would really brighten the place up. Create oxygen, too. The air was stale, still breathable for hours yet, but it could use sweetening, a spray of lilac, a dusting of rose petals. It smelled too heavily of earth and sweat and fear. And blood, of course, but he was so acclimatized to that pungent tang that he hardly noticed it anymore.

"Hey." Ken's rasp broke through the engulfing darkness. "Time for the radio." Yohji looked down in time to catch his fleeting smile. "Thought you were...supposed to keep me here and now."

Yohji pretended to cuff him, hand swiping over his injured head without touching. Then he raised the radio to his mouth, spoke the call like a mantra, "This is Kudou Yohji. We are trapped underground. Help us."

They waited the obligatory couple seconds for a reply. Finally Yohji shook his head, lowered the radio. "Whatever."

"Have to...keep trying," Ken insisted.

Placing the radio back on the ground next to him, Yohji sighed. "I suppose so." Looking down with a wan smile, he delicately tapped the other's forehead with his index finger. "How's the head?" he inquired lightly, needing a change of subject.

"...Better..."

"Hmph!"

He snorted at the obvious lie, eliciting a glare from the man whose said injured head was resting in his lap. "Well...how's the ribs?"

"Oh...better. Hardly feel a thing." If Ken wasn't going to be honest, Yohji saw no point in breaking the illusion. Neither spoke for a moment, instead listening to each other's harsh breathing.

"It hurts like hell..." Ken mumbled finally, relenting.

"Nn, quite painful." The shared smile faded quickly, leaving them in more peaceful silence.

One which he knew he had to break, Ken thought, taking a deep breath. His older teammate probably wasn't going to like what he had to say, but it needed to be spoken none the less. "You know..." he began, swallowing once before pushing on. "...even if someone hears the call...it will take them a while to get to us."

"_Un_." Well, he was listening; it was a start.

"Omi and Aya predicted...at most nine hours...five of which have gone by. We're running out of time."

Yohji didn't respond for a moment and Ken was fairly certain he saw wariness growing in the other's eyes as he asked, "What's your point?"

He flicked his glance away, unable to maintain eye contact. "The air would last a lot longer with only three—"

"Stop right there!" The order came out more of a hiss, the volume and sharp tone bringing Aya awake with a grunt and set Omi stirring, though either of the others noticed.

"It's my fault you're here...you're injured yet wasting energy keeping me awake...it'd be better for us all if I just...let go...and—"

"Die?" Yohji growled, realizing exactly what Ken was suggesting. Allow himself to let go, fall into a coma, stop breathing...oh yes, the perfect solution. He could feel his outrage building, bursting forth at the younger man's slight affirmative nod in reply. "Like **Hell**! Don't you dare suggest it again!"

Yohji hauled Ken to his knees to face him, anger overriding the agony blossoming in his ribs from the move. "Don't even think it!" he snarled, punctuating each word with a shake, the younger man swinging limply in his grasp like a rag doll. "And so help me if you _try_ it, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Ken rasped out. "You'll kill me? Send me straight to hell?"

"Ken-kun..." Omi started, but Ken continued, warning unheard or simply unheeded.

"We're already going to hell...but because of my stupidity...we're all taking the trip sooner...than expected..."

"Tchaa!" With a growl, Yohji let go, shoving himself away as if burned. Ken swayed for a moment as if buffeted by a wind, then slowly crumpled, using the very last of his energy to curl into a tight ball.

It didn't matter what they thought. Didn't matter how much it hurt. Only one thing mattered now: there was a chance, however slight...but even if their call was heard, it would take time. And time was the one thing he could give them, at least a little more.

His eyes fell closed easily now that he was no longer holding on. Sound and feeling faded away, so all that was left was darkness...peaceful, quiet...lonely. But it was the least he could do...his fault that they were trapped...that they were dying. He had always been a screw-up, even in his death, it seemed...

He had almost managed to lose himself in the labyrinth of his guilt and pain when he heard the voice. It smashed through the welcoming oblivion like fists through a paper wall. Like his claws slashing flesh. It was cold like ice and sharp like broken glass, and he couldn't ignore it however he tried.

And still, under the calmness of the words, he heard pain, sorrow in that even baritone, as if the man were mourning. He didn't recognize the words and yet it was a voice he knew. He wondered if it was his father.

"When you played football," it demanded of him, "did you ever let your team down? Answer me, Hidaka. Ken. If you gave up, then you lost. Then your team lost. Did you ever make them lose?"

Of course, of course he had—_not your fault_, except it had been. It had been, he had trusted Kase. His fault. He hadn't meant to fail but he had, and they had lost, and then he had lost everything.

Someone was shaking him, someone had him by the shoulders and he thought he was being beaten again, beaten and left for dead, he could see the flames—

"You wouldn't fail your team, Ken," the voice was saying, rough now, the words harsh with insistence. "You wouldn't let them lose. Too much depends on you. You won't let us lose—you won't let us lose you!"

He wasn't beaten. Instead of fists there were open hands, drawing him close, surrounding him with warmth. His head was cradled, gently, against a warm chest rising and falling with a long exhalation, a flow of more words, softer but no less vehement. "We've lost too much, all of us. Too many games, too many people. If we win this, or if we lose, it will be as a team. Not because anyone gave up. Do you understand, Ken?

He did. He had no choices after all. No options, save try his hardest. If that wasn't enough, his team would lose. But he could not fail from anything less. Counting on him; they all were counting on him, as he was counting on them. The coach's faith was all on him, bet the game on his defense, couldn't betray that trust—

"Acknowledge!" demanded the voice.

Somehow he found in himself a last reservoir of strength, enough to tip his head up and down in a single nod. "Under...stand."

The arms around his shoulders tightened, and he felt something hot and wet splatter his cheek. "We're not going to give up. None of us. We're a team, Hidaka. Do you remember what that means? We're a team."

"No, Aya-kun." It was Omi's voice.

_Omi.._ ?

Ken knew where he was again. He opened his eyes.

In the glow of the flashlights he saw Omi's face, shiny with more than sweat. Leaning against the wall beside the boy, so close their shoulders were pressed together, Yohji had his hand shading his eyes, as if even those dim rays of artificial light were too strong. And Aya—

Aya held him, gently and yet fiercely too, imprisoning him in an unbreakable embrace, his head bowed over Ken's. At their teammate's denial, he raised it again, pinned Omi with a steel-sharp stare. For a single instant Ken thought he saw a film of moisture glistening in those violet eyes; then the light shifted and he saw only unflawed amethyst.

But Weiss's youngest didn't waver under that regard, for all his pallid cheeks were tracked with tears. "No," he said again. "Not just a team."

Yohji's head came up and his hand dropped. His face was still as stone in the shadows, sober as a priest's. "Friends, then?" he said, almost toneless.

"No," Omi answered, his eyes huge and intense as he looked at each of them in turn. Studied them as if memorizing them in his heart. "Family," he said. "And I won't lose the only brothers I've ever known."

 

* * *

It took a moment before any of them could find their voice, but in the silence Aya continued to grip Ken, and moving slowly so as not to jar his ribs, Yohji slid one arm around Omi's shoulder. With the other he raised the flashlight high enough to illuminate clearly all their features. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Basically, what he means, Ken, is that if you _ever_ scare us like that again..." He trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air, trying very hard to ignore the inexplicable water he still felt at the corners of his eyes.

"H..hai..." The rough voice was so quiet they could barely make it out, but it was enough.

"Good. Now is it just me or is it getting colder in here?" Truly, the blond didn't feel any temperature change himself, but he could hear Ken's teeth starting to chatter from a few feet away, and pressed up against him, Omi's shivering was getting strong enough to make the flashlight clutched in Yohji's other hand start to shake.

Green eyes met violet for a instant, comprehension passing between them. They both knew it was the blood loss, or shock setting in, or most likely both, but neither cared to point that out. Instead Aya shrugged. "The explosions would have knocked out any heating system and we are fairly deep underground." Raised eyebrow enough to convey his intention, Yohji nodded agreement.

Tightening his grip on Ken, Aya hoisted him up, carrying him the few paces needed to flop down beside Yohji before the younger man had a chance to offer a feeble protest.

With only a few words, they rearranged themselves. Aya and Yohji sat leaning against the wall, shoulders touching. Omi's head was pillowed in the blonde's lap, his leg now elevated, resting on Ken's knees, Aya's coat thrown over him as a makeshift blanket.

Ken sat upright in Aya's lap, braced against his chest, the older man's arms encircling him loosely. "Hmm...definitely warmer," he murmured, wrenching his eyes open wide as he found them once more inexplicably closed.

"So..." Yohji began, absently stroking Omi's hair. "How much time do you think we have left?" The light tone was out of place in the dimness, yet somehow reassuring.

"Three and a half...maybe four hours," Omi hazarded.

"Damn, but this sucks," Yohji muttered.

Ken opened his mouth, the apology on his lips, only to snap his jaw closed again at Yohji's glare.

"Don't even _try_ saying it again, Hidaka. That was not an accusation. We get it, you're sorry, but so help me god, I hear one more apology or attempt to do something drastic and concussion or no, team or no, family or no, I _will_ be forced to strangle you!"

The younger man bit his lip, knowing it would be very wrong to laugh, knowing how out of place the sound would be in the small, airtight death trap he'd gotten them stuck in, yet somehow his lips were still twitching.

"You do of course realize the irony in that threat?" Aya asked, voice laced with a hint of sarcasm that the others had rarely heard. It was too much for Ken. Maybe the head injury really was getting to him, he wondered as a laugh escaped, beaten only by a fraction of a second by Omi's horribly suppressed giggle.

"Oh wonderful. Aya, I think their injuries are affecting them worse than we thou..." he trailed off, eyes widening as he caught the smirk emerging on the redhead's lips. "God, not you too!" The tone was exasperated, but the others all saw the twinkle in his eye.

"Well, my Obaasan used to always say you could die laughing. Somehow, though, I don't think this is what she meant."

Yohji smiled, watching the other three share the laugh, only keeping himself from joining in with the knowledge of how much it would hurt his chest. After a few minutes, as the half-hysterical giggles of ones who have fully accepted their situation died down, he cleared his throat. "Family, _ne_?" he whispered, cocking a smile down at the head resting in his lap.

Instantly, Omi's expression became serious, a stubborn look coming into his eyes. "_Un_. Family."

The older man expelled a long, slow sigh. "I like the sound of that. Haven't had a family for a long time," he murmured, thinking back on when was the last time he'd really had someone he could consider as family in any way. Asuka perhaps, but even that had been years past.

"None..of..us have..." Ken rasped. Again, no one had an answer. After a moment, Yohji heaved another sigh.

"Kuso. I hate long waits." Three heads slowly rotated to stare wide-eyed in disbelief at their eldest teammate.

Aya opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a low, ominous crackling stopped any retort in its tracks. Glancing up, he aimed the flashlight at the ceiling overhead, just as a spray of dirt and pebbles rained down. Instinctively he hunched over Ken, shielding him from the fall, as beside him Yohji did the same with Omi.

The noise stopped, as did the rustle of falling stones. Yohji coughed once to clear dust from his throat, then suppressed the rest. In motionless silence they waited, listening tensely for a further disturbance. Faintly, Aya made out an irregular tapping, like dripping water, or the creaking of roofbeams.

He could tell Yohji heard it as well just in the intensity of his stillness, every fiber of his being focused on the sound. He could hear it, and understand it as well.

"Not so long a wait after all, it seems," Aya commented.

"No!" Omi surged up, pain sparking in his eyes like caught tinder. "No, the tunnel's reinforced steel—it was made to survive a cave-in—"

"A cave-in...not bombs," Ken murmured, his eyes open but his face as strangely peaceful as a dreamer's.

"No!" The boy shook his head, so violently he might have been convulsing. "No, I checked, it should hold, it—"

"Shh." Yohji had his arms around Omi, his chin tucked over his head, clutching him so close as to hold him immobile. One hand ran up and down his back, rubbing soothingly, as if he were pacifying a crying child, though Omi's anguished eyes were dry. "Didn't we just go through this with Ken?" their eldest asked, quiet, teasing. "Not your fault, it's not your fault."

"It doesn't matter," Aya growled.

Omi's head jerked up. "Ay—Aya-kun," he stuttered, misery overpowering pain in his pinched face.

"Blame doesn't change anything," Aya continued. "Whoever's fault it is. We're here. Whether we chose or not. We're Weiss, whether we ever decided to be. If I could have, I would have lived differently. But I didn't. And now we're dying. I don't want to die."

It was cowardice, but he saw no rejection in their expressions, no disgust. It was leaving his weakest spot wide open, but none of them dove for the kill.

He wasn't dead yet, and while it seemed fairly certain, it wasn't guaranteed. Only a man whose life has already reached its end will give up his last secrets. The only rightful home for one who has let go of everything is the grave.

But he was entombed, and they with him, and here under stone in the darkness he had nothing left to give save truth.

"But," he said, slowly, "having lived the life I have, if this is where Weiss dies, then I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Sand shifted, jarred from the ceiling to spill to the floor, and he wondered if he might have gone unheard through its quiet hiss. Then Omi spoke over it, in answer, defiant. "I'd still have gone back in, even if I'd known I wouldn't come out."

Yohji's teeth glittered in a smile more honest than his flirting grins in the flower shop. "Wouldn't miss this for the world. 'Cause I wouldn't want the world afterwards."

"I..." Ken's rasp was thick, choked with more than dust. "I would give...anything...to be here alone...so you...were safe..."

Aya dropped his head, unexpectedly finding himself smothering an uncalled for, unlikely laugh. Oxygen deprivation must be setting in at last. "Hidaka," he said, his warning tone marred by the effort to fight down the errant humor, "don't try to convince me that if it had been one of us caught, you wouldn't have dashed right back into this damned cave. Even knowing the consequences. Even if you could have safely walked away. You're not any brighter than the rest of us."

"Hey, I resemble that," Yohji objected.

"Aya's right," Omi said suddenly.

"I beg to differ."

"No, Yohji-kun," though he struggled to smile understanding of the joke. "But what he said before. It doesn't matter. Any of it. Except that we're here. And we're..."

"Family," Yohji said, serious in an instant, grasping Omi's hand and squeezing.

"Family," Aya agreed, and reaching out he clasped their joined hands.

"Family," Ken whispered, and with visible effort he raised his arm and laid his hand over his three teammates'.

As he touched, the rock around them rattled like the striking of a steel drum. A few stones larger than their heads broke loose and tumbled down, ripping through the wires of the radio assemblage. Omi winced. Ken didn't move, but his whole body was rigid as he fought the instinctive urge to curl into a fetal position and banish the frightful world. Through the flashlight's wavering beam Aya saw Yohji's lips move, read, "Guess this is it..."

And somehow he wasn't afraid, wasn't regretful, wasn't even angry. Just sad, mourning what would be lost, the life which hadn't yet had a chance to be. Sad, and a little frustrated that everything had to end now, when he was only beginning to understand.

He was relaxed, waiting for the expected crushing agony and the end that would follow, grieving, not fighting, but he would not close his eyes. He would not look away.

So it was that the pain came as a stab of gold, searing his retinas.

Aya blinked hard in the shaft of sunlight, seeing nothing but splotches of violent color, blood reds and gory violets. Around him he heard his three teammates crying out, and against his cheeks he felt a rush of air, shockingly warm in the shaded cool of the tunnel and marked with the heady fresh scent of growing grass.

The light was abruptly dimmed, and through the flashing hues he made out a form silhouetted in the bright hole in the roof, a familiar shape peering down at them, accompanied by a familiar voice. "You boys okay?"

Manx sounded indecently cheerful—to cover worry, he knew. But there was no false spirits in Yohji's exuberant reply, "Hell no—get us the fuck out of here!"

"Thought you wouldn't...miss it," Ken remarked.

Aya could see again by now. Yohji's grin was bright in the orange glow of the setting sun outside. "Nope," he said, "I won't miss this place at all."

Then he reached out, caught Ken's hand in one of his and Aya's in the other, and pulled them to Omi's, resting in his lap. "But this," he said, quietly enough that his voice would not carry beyond the circle of their four heads, would not be heard by the women and men excavating their trap above. "This we keep. Even out of here. Right?"

"Yes," Aya said, and saw their answering smiles shine stronger than any pain, great enough to outlast any ending.


End file.
